He can play the violin
catch it up in your heart strings
The old girl has a lot of life in her yet
Riding ******* through desert storms
smoothes the wrinkles of time from her skin
Now we have electricity I can just flick the switch
and turn her on

Lifting the veil and exposing the heart of the matter
I can see you forgot who you were for a moment
And exposed the person you were meant to be

Eucalypts hang from blue sky railings
The mud is dry, ground is hard
The white ute in the garden
is silent
I love the sound without wind blowers
and lawn mowers
Words are gathering at Newstead
anarchists too
A short story tattoo
Ideas are crowded and loud
galloping around the racetrack
But it's quiet here at the Mudhouse
with the brown dog in the garden

Chunky calloused stubs
made for wielding a meat axe over a carcass
A sweet melody struck from the wreckage of poverties storm
Were you angry because you were short?
They were shooting small animals off the walls

Translate this she said
My heart started to race as the sheet of paper
drifted silently to the table
Letters jumbled together
like the confusion in my head
Am I supposed to speak Spanish?
I did this for the challenge
I am challenged
I can feel it crawling around under my skin
somewhere between pleasure and panic

she sits at the dining table
afternoon sun streaming in
doing battle with the cryptic crossword
cursing the old woman she has become when words elude
the hand holding the pen wrinkled like the armpits of the of the eucalypt branches in the garden belongs to the same old crone who uses the walking stick leaning against the fading arm chair
once upon a time she held court
powerhouse of the labor party
corporate tiger
made her fortune from men in suits who cowered before her fearsome glare perfected in the bathroom mirror along with her makeup
mother, wife, business woman
she did it all and had it all
but time passes slowly with each orbit around the sun
time smoothes, soothes and wears away the edges of youth
luring you towards the twilight of lifes great destiny
the glare faded along with the eyes that now need glasses and a reading light for the evening paper
where once she stood tall against destruction of the environment
now she leans on her walking stick advocating Philip Nitschke and her right to exit at a time of her choosing
the ache in her heart for the lost vibrancy dimmed by the arthritis that makes climbing the stairs an exercise of will
prada heels and armani long ago gave way to swollen ankles, dr scholls and elastic waisted slacks
a life well lived does not make growing old any more appealing
she monitors her own decline as her friends pass away around her one by one
lingering at lifes edge as she tries to convince them its ok to go
wondering when her own turn to go will arrive or if she will find the courage to bring it on before her mind or her body betray her
taking mobility and choice in equal measure

It started with the Sumerians
well before Christ
Sumerians passed the joy plant on to Assyrians
Assyrians in turn to Egyptians
Where the Sphinx sat
in the desert
watching the way to sea decked in poppies
the symbol of sleep and death
feeding Cleopatra's ****** fantasies
Some say she died by the kiss of *****
not a snake
The power of ***** led it on
down the Silk Road to China where it went to war
***** dens spread near and far
Poppies lift poor Afghan farmers out of poverty's embrace
fields of color
fields of blood
In Flanders field remembrance was born
fields of blood red poppies
embrace the bodies of the fallen
The only thing standing between death
and remembering
the symbol of piece
a white poppy